Hallelujah
by whatfangirlwhere
Summary: They say seconds can feel like years, that there are times that time simply seems to stop.


_"I've seen your flag on a marble arch-_

_Love is not a victory march,_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah…"_

oOoOoOo

They say seconds can feel like years, that there are times that time simply seems to stop.

Enjolras said he would never lower himself to such ridiculous philosophy, but this moment was one he wished time had stopped at, that it had never moved on. The last, brief moment when he had turned to look behind him and had caught the gaze of those grey eyes, locked on his, full of fear and dreams of a better world, a greater world, and yet above all the realization that it would soon be over, and they would be gone and this would all mean nothing. All that, surely he could not have guessed it in a moment, but he knew Courfeyrac, knew his bravery, his fears, knew the fears that kept him up at night trembling, the loyalty that kept him right by his side to the end. But there was also a broken, sad look to those eyes, of the young man who'd always had too much a heart for this, a heart that had shattered several times over in that morning, as friend after friend was lost, including the child he had taken under his wing, his protection. Another glance, another second that stretched longer, and he could see Combeferre's hand on Courfeyrac's chest, pushing him back, protecting their friend as he always had-always their guide, their companion who could always be trusted. He was one of the few who knew of what Enjolras feared the most, of the feelings in his heart and nights spent away from his apartment. He knew, too, that Courfeyrac had someone some nights, in his room, the two of them curled around each other in a bliss that even a revolution, a whirlwind hopeful republic, could not penetrate. Enjolras, who had been called cold, unfeeling, who was not known to outwardly show affection, had never told a soul of what transpired those nights in the last year or so before this moment, of the mornings he'd wake up to mussed black curls and a dimpled smile, kisses that brought the sunlight in without even opening the shutters.

Oh, what he would give to see one of those smiles now, instead of that panic, fear, and yet still that utter devotion in his friend's-more than a friend, Courfeyrac had been-eyes. But he was the leader, this was his revolution, but yet not his alone, he needed the warm, the light that kept everyone going, and that was Courfeyrac, he was their center-and to Enjolras, his own center to keep him grounded.

But of course, time always moves on, and those seconds' length was shattered and reality came rushing back, and there was those shouts, gunfire, stomping beneath them, Combeferre's gentle hand-always meant for healing, not fighting-pushing Courfeyrac back, as if it would protect him from this. Suddenly, everything was noise, shattering wood and the blast of gunpowder, and Enjolras turned only to catch one last glance into those grey eyes, and then it was gone, and all he could see was a body falling to the ground, hand outstretched toward him, always toward him…and he could feel something in his chest shatter, and he realized what it was, as time once again seemed to slow to a stop-his heart, it was his heart breaking into a million pieces. He swallowed it down, trying to ignore it, although he was now alone in the room with only the chilling bodies of his beloved, his friends…he looked down at the flag in his hands, the red, the white, the blue…and all he could see was what he had failed to accomplish, the lives he had cost. Courfeyrac should have lived a hundred years, a heart as big as his would have done the world good as a lawyer, helping the poor, but instead here he was on the second floor of a cafe, the bright lights gone from his eyes, and when the doors opened Enjolras levelled his gaze at the soldiers stomping into the room, fury and anguish darkening his blue eyes, and when Grantaire joined him time started again, and he turned and gave him the last smile that would ever grace those lips that had once produced such moving words, moved an entire group of students to action.

And then time stopped altogether for him, never to start again.


End file.
